


The Logistics of Random and Unexpected Magical Incidents

by fnowae



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Ignore my dumb title, M/M, based on a tumblr prompt, fairy!Patrick, not rly romantic joetrick but if I ever sequel this it will be, read it I promise it's good, that's right I write prompts sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: Based On A Prompt Sent To My Tumblr:"I had an idea for a crackfic where patrick is slowly becoming a fairy, but he doesn't realize right away. At first he thinks he's just slowly shrinking, which scares him because he doesn't know when it's going to stop. It doesn't stop until he's about the height of a pencil, but he's glad it's finally over - at least, before he wakes up with glittery wings the next day, freaks out, and calls joe for help."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on chapter 4 of pick your poison, I promise, but for now have a Tumblr prompt I FINALLY finished writing!! I can write prompts, I swear!
> 
> This is 100% open to be sequeled if y'all would like. Also 100% open for nice headcanons!! (See Notes at the end.)
> 
> Enjoy!

Patrick really doesn't notice at first, though it couldn't be said whether it's because it wasn't obvious or because he just wasn't paying attention.

But when he does notice is one night when he's standing in his bathroom, staring at the mirror, feeling like something is just a little bit off. 

He can't put his finger on it, but he knows something is definitely wrong. 

Okay, so this isn't really where he realizes what's going on. It is where he first notices it, though. 

When he first realizes what's going on is the next day, around noon, when he's back in the bathroom and this time he is _certain_ that something is wrong. 

The longer he stares at his reflection, the more an idea forms, but it seems so ridiculous that he dismisses it. Because there's no way that he's _actually_ somehow shorter than he's supposed to be, right?

As ridiculous as the idea sounds, he can't get it out of his head, so just to prove that himself that he's imagining it, he goes to find a height chart that the rest of the band once bought him as a joke (it had actually seemed pretty funny at the time) and sets it up against the wall. He stands against it, making sure he's standing straight up, then marks with his finger where the top of his head is and turns around. 

Patrick frowns and puts his back to the wall again, sure he must've somehow put his finger in the wrong place. But this time yields the same result. 

He tries it five more times, but nothing changes. 

His finger still sits right at the five foot mark. 

"Holy fuck." He breathes out, stepping slowly away. 

He decides to pretend that never happened, like if he ignores it everything will be fixed, and goes to make some pasta for lunch. But (just in case, he swears) that height chart is still up. 

~*~

Patrick wakes up the next morning already nervous. His fingers are crossed that whatever is going on has passed, or was a dream. So, to make sure, he goes back to the stupid height chart. 

When he steps away, his finger is sitting at four feet, eight inches. 

Patrick kicks the wall in frustration. What the fuck? Like he wasn't short enough already, the universe just wants him to suffer more. It doesn't even make sense!

At this point, Patrick makes a mental note to regularly check his height...y'know, just in case. Not that this is going to get any worse. 

He hopes. 

~*~

By that night, he measures right up to four foot six. Patrick is starting to get worried. It's just now hitting him after losing almost a foot that whatever's happening is actually _happening_ , and consequently, he doesn't know when it will _stop_ happening. As far as he knows, he's going to continuously shrink until there's none of him left. 

That's another thing he figured out. He's not just getting shorter, his whole body is getting smaller: he is literally shrinking. It's kind of scary. 

He is still a little bit in denial (this has to be a dream, right?), but he knows that, unfortunately, won't last much longer. 

He goes to bed that night terrified for the morning. 

~*~ 

Patrick didn't know what to expect, but he's actually glad that he only lost two inches overnight. He's starting to wonder what he's going to do if he gets to, say, less than a foot (which, god, he hopes won't happen). This worry leads him to make plans for the worst case scenario; he uses a tissue box and old fabric to make a little bed, and puts it on his nightstand with spare food in case he can't get to the fridge. 

Just in case, he tells himself, like it won't happen if he believes it won't. 

Unfortunately, he doesn't even believe it won't. 

~*~ 

Only losing two inches overnight was apparently a lucky break, because when he checks his height that night he's evenly at the four foot mark. 

"Fuck." He mutters quietly, staring at nothing in particular. Reality is slowly setting in that this isn't stopping any time soon. And that really isn't good. 

Patrick goes to sleep even more worried than last night. He starts to feel like this is about to get exponentially worse. 

He's right. 

~*~

When his finger is resting at three foot six the next morning, Patrick has to double check, because this is _no way_ he just lost six inches overnight. But, of course, it wasn't a mistake; just like it wasn't a mistake that first time when his finger was on five feet. 

God, Patrick would give anything to go back to that. And he'd thought five feet was short. 

This day is increasingly uncomfortable, as Patrick is now definitely too short to reach the cupboards, so he eats off of a napkin instead of a plate. It's also uncomfortable because he's finally realizing how _small_ he feels...of course, he _is_ small, but it's just strange. 

And of course, he gets the feeling throughout the whole day that he's _still_ getting smaller, which makes him more and more scared to check the chart that night. 

When he does, he's at three feet. Figures. 

~*~

Patrick struggles to even get out of bed the next morning. He isn't even surprised when he measures up to two feet. He tries to make coffee, but it's a lost cause. He's shorter than the counter and his hands are actually too small to hold a mug (even the tiny ones). 

Deciding that doing anything is a lost cause, Patrick focuses on more preparation for the inevitable: he probably _is_ going to make it to under a foot. 

He gets more food (though still not too much), finds a ruler ("just in case," he repeats under his breath), and puts it on his nightstand with the other food and the little bed he made that's becoming increasingly closer to being the right size. 

Just in case. As always. 

~*~

Patrick wakes up the next morning and already knows it's bad. 

His worst fears are confirmed when he realizes that he's reached the point where he's so small, the drop from his bed seems terrifying.

He can still make his way from his bed to the nightstand (though the two inch gap now looks somewhat horrifying to him), and does so, quickly finding the ruler he set aside for this very reason. 

He's exactly the same height as it. He wants to scream. 

He makes sure the ruler is still sitting straight up against the wall ( _just in case_ ) and opens a pack of crackers that he'd set aside. He's kind of put off when he finds that one cracker goes up to his knees. It's disorienting as hell, and also just plain weird. 

Not that the rest of this isn't. 

~*~

Patrick holds out hope that a foot will be the stopping mark, but when he goes to the ruler that night (after spending the day bored and stressed out), he's down to just over seven inches. 

"This isn't fucking funny anymore!" He yells to anyone who might be listening. 

Of course, it was never funny in the first place. And no one is listening. 

~*~

Patrick fits in the little tissue box bed now, so he sleeps in it, and it's surprisingly comfortable. He wakes up dreading the measurement the ruler gives him. 

It's a welcome surprise when he finds that he's still at the exact same height he was last night. So maybe seven inches isn't the best situation, but at least he finally has hope that it stops here. 

Today he opens a chocolate bar that he'd set on the table with the rest of his food to celebrate, and he's actually pleased to find that one section of the bar is like an entire chocolate bar to him right now. 

He eats part of another cracker and one raisin too, and, trying to think on the bright side, he supposes it's good that food will last him so long now. That may be the only good thing he can think of about this, but it's something. 

That night he's still at that just-above-seven-inches mark, and he actually starts to feel optimistic. So maybe he's fucking tiny now, at least it can't get any worse. 

He's, by the way, very wrong about that. 

~*~

Patrick wakes up the next morning with a new, horrible gut feeling, and his first thought is that he's started getting smaller again. But when he sits up and starts to walk towards the ruler, he stops. Something _else_ seems off. 

Patrick's back itches a little, and he puts his arm back to scratch it, but stops when his hand hits something that he can't identify. Whatever it is feels weirdly thin and soft, he thinks? Or not. It's strange and he's horrified as to what it could be. 

There's a small rectangular mirror propped up near the ruler (he's glad he thought to have that), and he goes over to it. 

When he sees his reflection, he freezes and breathes out, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

The something his hand hit is a pair of iridescent wings that are definitely _fucking attached to his back_.

"Really?" He asks no one in particular. As if this wasn't bad enough already. 

The wings are a strange shade of periwinkle that shifts between blue and purple when he moves, and he really would find them pretty if they were, say, not _his_.

Patrick stares at the wings (he refuses to say they're _his_ , even though he knows they are) for another full minute before he really starts freaking out. 

"Fucking really?" He shouts again to no one. "You know what? Being seven inches tall was fucking _fine_ , that I could deal with! But don't you fucking tell me I'm a fucking _fairy_ too, okay?"

Of course, no one hears him, so he just steps back and quiets down. 

For some reason, throughout the past couple days, the fact that he was actually _shrinking_ had not bothered Patrick that much. He'd freaked out a little, sure, but he'd taken it all in stride, really. But this is the last straw. _This_ is the point he can't tolerate. 

This is the point where he finally decides he needs to ask someone for help. 

So, after a quick moment of thinking, he calls Joe. 

The act of calling Joe actually takes a lot of work on Patrick's part (the phone is more than half his height), but he does, and Joe picks up on the fourth ring and asks, "What's up?"

Patrick deliberates on what to say (for some reason, "could you come over because I might be a fucking fairy" doesn't sound right) and then says, "Could you, like, come over? It's kind of important."

"Uh, yeah? Are you okay?" Joe asks, worry evident in his voice. 

"I mean, yeah, I'm not dying or anything." Patrick replies dryly. "But if you could come over right now, like, immediately, that'd be great."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Joe tells him. 

"Okay. Cool." Patrick says, and hangs up. 

He lets out a sigh of relief, then freezes as a new problem presents itself. 

_How is he supposed to even let Joe in?_

~*~

The answer presents itself rather quickly once Patrick realizes he can fucking _fly_. 

He realizes this on a whim, when he randomly tries to flap his wings to see if he can. He, in fact, can, and it lifts him off the ground. 

He makes a noise of surprise and crashes back down, but it's a start. It might be hard for him to maneuver and very disorienting, but Patrick manages to get up in the air and stay there. 

The next issue is that he still isn't sure how to let Joe in (which doesn't sound like a problem, but really is). He awkwardly makes his way to the front door, and, just as awkwardly, tries to unlock it. 

It takes what feels like forever (but is really more like a minute), but he manages to push the lock down and unlock the door. He quickly flies back to his room (he's getting more and more used to it, which is somewhat unsettling in itself) and sends a text to Joe, painstaking single letter after single letter, that reads _I left the door unlocked, just let yourself in_. 

And then he settles down uncomfortably to wait. He eats half of another raisin while he sits, growing more nervous by the second. Maybe this was a bad idea. He didn't have to tell anyone. He could have just sat in his house without contact to anyone else forever. 

Except, he also really couldn't have. 

When he hears the inevitable noise of the door opening, he shoots straight up and actually a little bit into the air in surprise. He lowers himself back down neatly, and when he hears the door close again, he calls, "Uh, I'm in here!"

"Patrick?" Joe calls in response, and Patrick hears his footsteps in the hall and right up to his door. 

The door opens, and Patrick inhales sharply. 

Joe pokes his head in, and looks around. "Patrick?" He asks. "Where are..." His eyes finally land on Patrick, and his voice drops off as his eyes widen. 

"Hi." Patrick forces out, smiling awkwardly. 

"What the fuck." Joe says, trying and failing to not look quite so weirded out. Patrick at least appreciates the effort. "What happened?"

"Um, I'm not sure." Patrick admits, nervously stuffing his hands into his pockets. It just now occurs to him that these are the only clothes that are going to fit him now. Well, that's just great. 

Joe just blinks at him. "You...I...what?"

"I seriously don't know." Patrick repeats bitterly. "I literally fucking woke up like this, okay?"

Joe is quiet for a moment, then says, "Well, why the hell would you call _me_ about this?"

Patrick frowns. He needs to consider his answer for a moment. "Well...I guess I didn't want to call Pete because he'd never let me hear the end of this, and I didn't want to call Andy because he'd want to tell Pete. So...I called you."

"Ah." Joe cracks a smile. "Pete really wouldn't stop bothering you about this if he knew, would he?"

"Oh, god, it'd be a nightmare." Patrick replies with a laugh, his crazy situation momentarily forgotten. 

But not for long. 

Joe turns serious again. "You are gonna have to tell someone else eventually-"

Patrick cuts him off. "No. _No_. Please."

Joe gives him a look. "I appreciate your desire to not give Pete something to tease you about. I can strongly relate. But also, you can't spend the rest of your life hiding away in your house with contact with just one person. I mean, if people start asking me where you are, I'm going to have to tell them anyway."

Patrick sighs. Joe does make a good point, as much as he hates to admit it. "Yeah...but, like...can we wait for now? I'm still not even used to this. Not that I'll ever be..."

"Yeah." Joe nods and gives him a small smile. "That's okay."

~*~

Joe digs out a pack of pasta and some marinara sauce and makes spaghetti for dinner. He kindly cuts up two noodles into smaller pieces, puts a tiny bit of sauce on them, and serves them to Patrick on a quarter that he assures Patrick he washed before putting food on it. 

Joe sits at the table, and Patrick sits _on_ the table right across from him, picking at his food with his hands because they don't really have any utensils he can use. 

The silence remains unbroken until Joe blurts out, "You're a fucking fairy."

Patrick looks up at him incredulously. After the initial shock, it'd seemed like Joe had calmed down, but apparently not. 

"Yeah." He responds slowly, stretching out the single word. "I noticed."

Joe shoves a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, and after he swallows it, comments thoughtfully, "That's pretty weird."

"No shit." Patrick, in return, eats one of his tiny noodle segments. 

"Huh." Joe says, this time while his mouth is still full of food. 

Silence falls again as they both work on finishing their meals. 

As Joe finishes his plate, he suddenly asks, "Do you want me to stay here?"

Patrick looks up at him again. "What?"

"Like..." Joe sighs, somewhat exasperated. "I don't know. I guess I'm not sure how much you can do on your own right now? And I didn't know if you wanted me to stay and help? I thought maybe that's why you called me. Which is fine. Because I could do that. Totally. But if that's weird or too much or whatever, then...that's cool."

Patrick blinks at him and breaks into a slow smile. "That'd be...really nice, actually."

"Really?" Joe looks like he's surprised at that. 

Patrick nods, smile falling. "You're right. I really can't do too much. If you wanted to, like, temporarily move in or whatever...that'd be pretty helpful, yeah."

"Oh. Okay." Joe says, then smiles at him. "Uh, by the way...I think it's pretty cool."

Patrick looks back down to his nearly empty "plate", slightly embarrassed. "Um...thanks."

They don't really speak again that night, but Patrick is just happy that, if he has to go through this shitstorm, then at least someone's gonna be here to help him.

**Author's Note:**

> please!!! send headcanons about this (or any one of my fics honestly, especially pick your poison 'cause that one's my baby) to my Tumblr: @vicesandvelociraptors 
> 
> I love getting headcanons about my fics and it makes my day!!!
> 
> And send prompts if you want too, because this is evidence I occasionally actually write them. 
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
